


And the waves tip my head

by verflixt



Category: Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: F/M, Relationship Study, people fucking with questionable motives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 13:17:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16138037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verflixt/pseuds/verflixt
Summary: “But we areso close.” The general’s voice is soft and beguiling in Isabel's ear, and he moves his hand to rest on her waist as he entreats her. “To your success, and our victory in the war. Dr. Maru, I know the circumstances seem dire, but this is the last step before our triumph is assured.” He takes her hand and turns her to face him. She meets his gaze blankly, too tired to argue his empty platitudes. Ludendorff studies her for a moment, expression inscrutable. But she sees a flicker in his eyes as he seems to come to some conclusion.“But perhaps we have both been overworked of late. It is easy to become discouraged in such conditions. We could use a distraction,” he suggests.Isabel scowls in surprise. A distraction? A strange suggestion for the normally single-minded general.“Come. We will leave this work for tomorrow. Accompany me to my quarters,” Ludendorff orders brusquely. Only then does he release Isabel’s hand.__________________Ludendorff consoles Dr. Maru after the loss of her notebook. Isabel is skeptical of his motives.





	And the waves tip my head

Isabel has sequestered herself away in her laboratory for hour after frustrating hour, attempting to puzzle together what she could remember of her painstaking notes. The spy’s escape with her notebook is a disastrous setback, one she is becoming increasingly certain she has no hope of recovering from. Even with her uncanny memory for formula and figurations, her natural fluency in a chemist’s arts– the task is too monumental, the work too complex to simply be recalled. 

Isabel lets out a snarl of rage and slams her hand against the table. She's _failed_. She sweeps her arm out across the tabletop of empty canisters and glass beakers, sending crumpled papers and writing implements flying. She finds a hollow satisfaction in the ensuing clanging and sounds of splintering glass– it’s not as if she will be getting any use out of her instruments anyway. Dimly she registers an exclamation of surprise from across the room.

Very rarely does she allow her temper to overcome her in front of others, but Ludendorff’s presence has become such a constant in her workspace that Isabel had forgotten in her anger that he was there. To her annoyance, she hears him rise from his usual seat and begin walking to her. She does not acknowledge his approach, silently staring at the mess in front of her and hoping he will think better of interfering. She bends to take a fistful of the broken glass shards, grinding them together in one gloved hand as she begins to muse darkly on what she would do if she ever sees that damned spy’s face again.

Ludendorff has the audacity to place a firm hand on her arm. “Please, Dr. Maru. Recent events have taken a great toll on all of us. But we must not give up yet,” he says. Isabel can’t be certain, unable to see his face and he stands behind her, but she thinks she hears a hint of pleading in his tone.

“Your good faith is… flattering, General,” Isabel finally responds, not bothering to turn around. She allows glittering splinters to slip between her fingers, back onto her workbench. “But I have lost weeks of progress on this project.” _Not to mention years of her life’s work_. “There is… little point in going on.”

“But we are _so close_.” The general’s voice is soft and beguiling in Isabel's ear, and he moves his hand to rest on her waist as he entreats her. “To your success, and our victory in the war. Dr. Maru, I know the circumstances seem dire, but this is the last step before our triumph is assured.” He takes her hand and turns her to face him. She meets his gaze blankly, too tired to argue his empty platitudes. Ludendorff studies her for a moment, expression inscrutable. But she sees a flicker in his eyes as he seems to come to some conclusion.

“But perhaps we have both been overworked of late. It is easy to become discouraged in such conditions. We could use a distraction,” he suggests. 

Isabel scowls in surprise. A distraction? A strange suggestion for the normally single-minded general. 

“Come. We will leave this work for tomorrow. Accompany me to my quarters,” Ludendorff orders brusquely. Only then does he release Isabel’s hand.

__________________

Given his rank, Ludendorff’s quarters are far nicer than Isabel’s– not that he seems to take advantage of it, she notes. The bed appears not to have been slept in for days, and the washstand is too pristinely clean to be regularly used.

Isabel initially shakes her head at the glass of dark liquor Ludendorff offers her. “Please, I insist,” he says, and presses it into her hand. Isabel accepts reluctantly, sitting in the chair he pulls from the desk in the corner before she sips. The alcohol is a welcome influence, blunting the sharp edges of Isabel’s frustration and impatience. Not that she would ever admit it.

Isabel does find some small satisfaction in seeing the normally charismatic Ludendorff at a loss for words. They have rarely interacted outside the context of her work, and they both know she has little personal life to speak of. Still, he does his best to needle small details of her past out of her– where she grew up, her family, her childhood. She finds the small talk tiring, but Ludendorff seems not to notice as he leans casually against the desk, across from her.

“I am unsure if you had further plans for the evening aside from plying me with alcohol,” Isabel finally interjects during a lull in his questioning. “But I assure you, it will render me neither more pleasant nor more permissive.”

Ludendorff looks momentarily startled, then laughs. “Those were not my intentions. You are a rarity among women, and within the machine of war. I already find your company pleasant.”

“Yes, and I am sure my capacities as a woman and a part of your _machine_ are equally desirable.” Isabel’s upper lip– what is left of it– curls in disdain.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Isabel.” There is a glimmer of amusement in Ludendorff’s eyes, and Isabel hates that he thinks she has any interest in playing this game. 

“I am of course grateful for the opportunities that have been afforded me serving the German cause, General. But I should just like to remind you that my obligations in our _partnership_ are purely… professional.”

“Are you suggesting I am one to take advantage of a woman?” Ludendorff asks mildly.

“I am not an idiot, _General_ ,” Isabel seethes, finally losing her patience. “I know what it implies when a man invites a woman to his rooms late at night.” She rises, then crosses to the small washstand. With fluid, abrupt motions, she removes the plates of her mask, prying them away from the scarred and shriveled flesh. Let him find the humor in _that_. She sets the ceramic pieces aside and turns back to Ludendorff.

“Well?” She pulls her mouth into its ugly mockery of a smile. “Do you like what you see?”

Infuriatingly, Ludendorff only blinks slowly, then sets his glass aside. “If you insist on being so forward.” Before Isabel can blink, he has stepped into her space, looming over her, and a surprisingly gentle hand tips up her chin before his mouth is on hers.

__________________

It would be much easier to forgive herself if he were more impersonal about it. But damn him, Ludendorff seems to relish every involuntary gasp and sigh that leaves Isabel’s mouth. She can feel him smile between her legs as she writhes and stifles her whimpers, smugness radiating from him when he glances up to meet her gaze.

He never takes his own pleasure until he’s already rendered her speechless and pliant, unable to stop herself from moaning as he presses inside her. She digs her nails into his back– has even been tempted to bite down on his shoulders– but his pace is always leisurely and controlled, as if he is watching and waiting for her to fall apart first. There is never any pain, and she wishes there were, so she would have something to hold onto– but there is only a slow, rolling pleasure that she cannot stop from building until it overwhelms her.

__________________

She has thought about telling him that they must stop, has rehearsed cold rejections and curt excuses. But each time it begins– with him laying his hands on her waist, or caressing her cheek, or brushing his lips against hers– she falls dumb. And then she falls apart again.

**Author's Note:**

> How a 20-something queer ended up writing a fic about a heterosexual, middle-aged(?) couple is beyond me. But here you go.
> 
> Comments appreciated, especially since this is my first post ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Title from Miike Snow's "Genghis Khan." Sort of? Apparently I misheard the lyrics.


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